All Days Are Night (16 page)

What sort of farce was that?

You mean the play yesterday? asked Jill. That’s just for fun, you mustn’t take it seriously.

I mean the whole thing, said Hubert. The invitation to the cultural center, and then your taking the exhibition away from me in the eleventh hour, in favor of a girl who’s barely got her diploma. And you in this ridiculous hotel, you can’t mean it. That’s not you.

Maybe not, said Jill, but life here is less of a strain. Our guests like to have a bit of fun, that’s what they’re paying for, and when they get it, they’re grateful and satisfied.

They sat facing each other in silence.

To begin with, I took an ironic view of everything here, said Jill finally, but over time I got to be really fond of the people. You’d be surprised at who comes here for vacations.

Hubert made to speak, but Jill cut him off.

I think I wanted to show you that. Because of the way you cut me down to size and said I wasn’t there. She stood up and made an actorish bow to him, and smiled. Well? Do you like what you see?

The last remaining days before the opening Hubert worked incessantly. He had set out the steles in his room. On one he
put the rest of the log he had whittled, and at its foot the whittlings, on the next the frayed place mats, and on the ground the red threads he had pulled out. Over one stele he looped the picked-at rope. He started covering some pieces of paper with pencil hatchings till gleaming black surfaces resulted, where the individual lines were no longer visible. Sometimes the paper was rubbed through or got warped in the course of the work, but he didn’t mind.

Thea spent days over the hanging of her pictures. Each time Hubert left his room, he found her standing in the exhibition space with a framed picture in her hand or on the floor at her feet. In the evening, Hubert left the cultural center and drove into the village to eat in a restaurant there. Then he would look up his e-mails. Astrid wrote that she was coming to the opening with Lukas and Rolf, perhaps he could reserve them a room in a nice hotel. Nina similarly said she would be coming for the opening, and bringing a couple of friends. He deleted the e-mails without answering them, he had to concentrate on his work.

He only went into the kitchen in the morning, to fix coffee. He no longer appeared at the hotel. What little he needed he bought in the village store. Some days he ate nothing but salted peanuts, until his mouth was burning with them, and drank copious amounts of coffee. He slept badly and had wild dreams from which he often woke bathed in sweat. Sometimes he had the feeling that everything he perceived stood in some relation to his slow work of destruction, the way the light crept over the floor, the rushing of the river audible inside, the cries of the children in the hotel grounds. He tore a piece out of an old
shirt and then used a needle to pick thread after thread out of it. The weave was so fine that he needed the lens of his slide projector as a magnifying glass. After he had spent hours working, he pushed everything aside, only to begin right away on the next task. For many hours on end he was unaware of time passing.

The final will is that to be truly present
.
So that the lived moment belongs to us and we to it …

ERNST BLOCH

Jill had gone over to the window of her office and was looking out onto the grounds behind the hotel. It was a gorgeous day, almost all the deck chairs were occupied, children were playing in the meadow, and in the background, in the shade of some mighty trees that stood by the riverbank, a dozen guests were sitting in a circle. Most were barefoot, some only in shorts and T-shirt. They had sketch pads on their knees and were attentively watching Hubert, who was standing in their midst, talking. On a basket chair next to him sat a naked young woman. Hubert gestured expansively, it was as though he was painting a picture in the air.

His course was a rip-roaring success. Jill could have filled it twice over, that’s how many people had signed up for it. A model was easily found as well: Ursina, the masseuse who had a practice in the village and came to the hotel when required. Jill knew that Ursina had sometimes done modeling when she was a student, and she agreed without demur. She seemed completely uninhibited, stretching during breaks or walking around to inspect the guests’ handiwork. Jill waved at Hubert, but he didn’t see her, and she sat down at her desk to finish the schedules for the next month.

Hubert had recovered remarkably quickly from his breakdown. On the morning of the opening, Jill had been seriously worried about him. Arno had called her and told her to come right away. It was her day off, and she was still in her nightie, but fifteen minutes later she was standing next to Arno in Hubert’s room in the cultural center. Hubert was deathly pale, he had beads of sweat on his brow. Jill called the doctor, then she got a large glass of water from the kitchen. You’re dehydrated, she said to Hubert, and helped him to sit up. The doctor prescribed something to lower his blood pressure, but what he needed above all was rest.

My wife is coming, and so are three of my students, said Hubert. They’re under the impression that I’ve got a show.

Is that all you’re worried about? said Jill. Come on, I’ll take you back to my place, no one will think of looking for you there.

During the first few days at Jill’s, Hubert wasn’t up to much. When she asked him in the evening what he had done during the day, he shrugged. After a few days he began to read. Most of the books in the house were Jill’s mother’s, they were illustrated guides to the area, cookbooks, and English novels. This rather random library had led to an improvement of relations between Jill and her mother. There was nothing arcane about her mother’s handwritten marginalia in the cookbooks, but they showed Jill a life that had had no other end in view than to provide a good home for her husband and daughter.

Ever since Jill had moved into the vacation home, her parents came up less frequently. Jill’s father had bad knees, and the stairs were difficult for him. If they went anywhere for vacation, it was to spa hotels, where he could receive physiotherapy.

Hubert seemed to read anything that fell into his hands, a collection of local legends, a book of Alpine flora, a little volume of Engadin proverbs that were painted all over the houses hereabouts.

It’s easy to find fault, and harder to do, he read. There must have been an artist living in that house. Or what about this: A little wolf is present in every one of us.

Jill was in the kitchen, making their dinner.

Love your destiny, even if it is bitter, read Hubert. Do you think that’s true?

Why don’t you wash the lettuce, said Jill.

When she came home the next day, Hubert was sitting in front of the house, sketching. She walked around and looked over his shoulder. He was just copying a sgraffito from the book of proverbs. He leafed back through the pad and showed her the drawings he had done, careful copies of mermaids, crocodiles, and zodiacs graced with sayings. He tore out a sheet and handed it to her. A year is long, ten years are short, she read.

They shared a bed. Jill went to the bathroom first. When Hubert had turned out the light and lain down next to her, she sometimes scooted over to him, and they would embrace. When Jill turned around, she felt Hubert’s erection. Neither of them said anything, and after a while, Jill crept back to her side of the bed. One evening she asked
him in earnest whether he would like to conduct a drawing class in the club and was astonished when he immediately said yes.

Jill was happier than she’d been for a very long time. Only now did she realize how solitary she had been these past years. When she remembered the time with Matthias, it was as though it had nothing to do with her present life. The memory of the sessions with Hubert, on the other hand, had remained vivid.

After she had talked Arno into inviting Hubert to hold another exhibition in the cultural center, she had been anxious for weeks. Then, when he sat in front of her in the hotel lobby again, everything was the way it had been before. And since Hubert had started living with her, she looked forward to coming home every evening. He frequently did the cooking. After dinner they often sat outside the house for hours, talking.

The first course Hubert offered was in landscape painting. A half dozen guests signed up for it. In the evening Jill met one of the participants, an old lady who had come with her granddaughter and had taken the course with her. The woman was enthusiastic, even her granddaughter had enjoyed it. Hubert too appeared to have enjoyed the day. When Jill came home, he had dinner ready. Well, how was it? she asked.

It’s amazing how many people paint in their free time, he said. There are no great geniuses among them, but at least they’re not beginners either.

You seem to have an admirer, said Jill.

Hubert looked at her with round eyes, then he said: Oh, do you mean Elena? She’s a teenager.

Actually, I was thinking of her grandmother, said Jill, laughing.

Since there were guests who stayed at the club for two weeks and wanted to carry on painting, Hubert offered a further course the following week, in portraiture. Obviously word had got out that he was a good teacher, at any rate the enrollment was twice the first week’s. At the end of the week, Jill asked him whether he would like to teach life drawing as well, that would certainly interest the younger set. And will you sit for us? he asked. If I can’t find anyone else I will, said Jill.

Most of the participants in the life-drawing class were men. Sometimes in the evening Hubert showed Jill sketches he had made of the students: malicious little caricatures of a shy young fellow who hardly dared look up from his page; a fat, bald fifty-year-old who as he worked jammed the tip of his tongue between his lips; another, still older man whose eyes were wide with terror as though they had seen Death. We’ll hang them up in the lobby next week, said Jill, to help recruit the next group.

Hubert spent more and more time at the club. Jill saw him from her window talking to the guests or disappearing with a group of youths in the direction of the football field. In the evening he would collect her in her office.

Do you want to take the car? she asked. I’m acting tonight.

It was the same play Hubert had seen her in before. He said he would stay and watch it again, maybe he would find some hidden depths in it this time. They ate together on the terrace, then he walked her to the tiny dressing room behind the stage. The costumes hung in the props room, a windowless annex stuffed full of scenery, clothes stands, and props that were used in the various productions. The dressing room was jammed full, but no one seemed to object to Hubert’s presence there. Jill loved the atmosphere of the performances, her male and female colleagues were excited, saying break a leg and pretending to spit over one another’s shoulders.

Hubert stood in the wings for the whole performance, watching. When Jill had an exit, she remained standing so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her body. He whispered something, but she covered his mouth with her hand. The audience laughed, and Jill had to go out again, to receive the contents of the chamber pot over her dress. For the final ovation the cast dragged Hubert out onto the stage with them, even though he had contributed nothing to the performance, and he laughed and bowed along with the others.

Most of them had kept their costumes on and headed straight for the bar to celebrate with the guests, and Jill and Hubert were the last two in the dressing room. Jill had hung up the wet dirndl to dry. In her old-fashioned undies she sat in front of one of the two mirrors, her face shining. Hubert had disappeared into the props room, and Jill was taking off her makeup. Suddenly he stood behind her, in lederhosen and checkered shirt, almost the identical costume to the yokel whom Jill had married in the play.

Aren’t you natty, she said, laughing and getting up. You should wear lederhosen more often.

Hubert took a step toward her and took her in his arms and kissed her on the mouth.

Toni! How could you! she resumed her role. You could at least wash your hands after milking.

Toni’s answer was a certain laugh line in every performance, but Hubert didn’t speak, just went on kissing Jill. He held her so hard it almost hurt. She responded to his kiss, and as though that was an invitation, he started undressing her. He kissed her on the throat and collarbone, and when they were both standing there in their shirts, he turned her around and penetrated her. Not so rough, said Jill, you’re hurting me. But Hubert seemed not to hear. In the mirror she caught a glimpse of his eyes, they were glazed like a drunk’s.

Be gentle, she whispered, I haven’t slept with a man in a long time.

During the early days in the club she had had occasional affairs with guests, and for one season she and the chef had been an item. But he had gotten transferred by the club to southern Turkey, and she hadn’t wanted to go with him. Over time, she had felt less and less like getting involved with a man and had contented herself with the occasional flirtation.

Hubert moved faster and faster, then he groaned, jerked once or twice, and collapsed heavily against her. After a while he picked himself up and stepped away from her. Jill could feel the sperm trickling down her leg.

Come on, she said and took him by the hand.

It was dark in the theater, the only light was from the green emergency exit signs. They lay in the bed that stood on the edge of the stage.

Are you sure no one will come in? whispered Hubert.

Don’t worry, said Jill, no one before the cleaners in the morning. They embraced and kissed, then Jill sat on top of Hubert and pulled her chemise over her head. It was strange, making love onstage. Jill shut her eyes and moved slowly. Hubert lay very still now. When she opened her eyes once briefly, she saw him looking up at her with a startled expression.

Gillian was seventeen. She was standing by the window of the vacation home with her bare elbows propped on the rough sill, looking up at the sky. The night was full of noises and smells. She was in love, at that time she was often in love, little things were enough to get her dreaming as well as stop the dreams. Everything that happened to her seemed to turn into feeling right away.